Bittersweet Melodies
by detective-sweetheart
Summary: ...and as they moved, he listened to the music as they did, it became increasingly clear that this was really the end of it all.


_A/N: This is what happens when I put instrumental music on my playlist and then start thinking about Deakins yet again, and being pissed off at NBC because they're reairing the finale the day before I have a big test in the morning. Anyways, yeah. CI's not mine, and I'm leaving now. _

Make it look normal. He could've scoffed at the thought, and almost did. But an order from the brass was an order from the brass; he was technically not a cop anymore, but apparently no one wanted anyone else to know what had really gone on. Not that he really even knew what exactly that was himself. Sure, Goren and Eames had managed to figure some of it out, but it was all still confusing. And it was exactly why he wanted no part in this so-called 'retirement' party that was being held 'in his honor', or so the department was saying. But as it was, he didn't have a choice.

It was also exactly why he found himself sitting there with what he hoped wasn't an obvious fake smile on his face, making idle small talk with people he'd known for years. He wondered vaguely as he remained where he was exactly why he was taking such care to make it look like it really was just another retirement. The department certainly didn't deserve it, he mused, for all the muck they'd dragged him and the rest of his squad through. But loyalties went a long way, and as much as he wanted to fight this, he knew it'd only make things worse.

What hurt was that they'd flat out told him to make it look normal…or else. Yeah, right, he'd scoffed, what more can they do to me? They'd already taken everything that meant anything. Most of everything, anyways. They couldn't take his family from him, and at present, that was the one thing keeping him from losing it completely…especially since he knew that come Monday, he'd shut off the alarm and go back to sleep instead of getting up. Though, he mused wryly, he'd probably get up anyways, just for old habit's sake, and have Angie come down into the kitchen an hour or so later, only to laugh at him for it.

Yes, as far as the department was concerned, nothing was wrong; he was leaving because he'd served his twenty…more than that, actually, he mused as he continued to sit there. But something was wrong; he knew it, his detectives knew it, and he was just too damn tired to really even care anymore. Screw the politics, and the brass, and everything that went along with them; he was finished, and if they wanted to pretend that everything was fine and dandy, then that was on them. But he'd had enough. Laughter broke into his thoughts, and he turned, hoping it looked like he'd been paying attention, but from the almost concerned look Angie was giving him, he knew it hadn't.

But it didn't matter. No one else had noticed; she was the only one, and he knew she wouldn't call him on it. At least, not until they were home, alone, and all the lights were off, and they'd finally managed to shoo their two youngest off to bed after being interrogated about the whole thing, how it went, and who had been there. And he'd answer her, the same way he always did, telling her that nothing was wrong, and trying to make her forget about it, but he knew she wouldn't. She never did. It was one of the reasons why he loved her, and one of the reasons why he knew he wouldn't be able to handle this mess without her.

He was surprised that the music playing hadn't yet given him a headache. It probably should have, he mused, with all the thinking that he'd been doing over the past few minutes, he was surprised he could even still concentrate on something other than what was going on. But that was exactly what he was doing: listening to the music, and trying to ignore everything else, but it was impossible to, for all the voices he heard, talking about retirement, and the Major Case Squad…He bit his lip to keep from firing off a sarcastic retort to someone who'd made a comment about Goren, before proceeding to call Logan a mutt. Angie noticed, and motioned for him to follow her. He did, and before he really realized where they were going, they were dancing, and she was talking quietly in his ear, trying to calm him down, and damned if she thought he'd let someone talk about his squad that way, but it was working.

The song changed as they moved, something that wouldn't have been noticed had this been some other so-called event, but at present, paying attention to it was the only thing keeping him from losing it completely and going off on someone; that and the fact that Angie was holding on to him, obviously knowing what would come if she didn't. It was one of those instrumental things, ironic, really, he mused, because that was the sort of music one played when one wanted to think, and thinking was the last thing he wanted to be doing. Especially since his mind really only seemed to be focusing on one thing.

And suddenly it all came very clearly and very quickly into focus. It was over. Twenty-odd years as a cop, and it had all abruptly come to an end. No more crime scenes or arguing with his detectives over one theory or another; no more fighting with the brass to keep the squad the way it was. No more turning off the alarm and wishing that he had just five more minutes, because now he did, and no more getting phone calls in the early morning hours because of something that had happened. It was finished; the resignation had gone into effect, he was 'retired' and there was no going back.

It was the questioning look on Angie's face when he glanced down at her that made him turn to hide his face in her shoulder, wanting to just forget about it all, but he couldn't, and he knew it.

And it was this thought that had him in sudden tears.


End file.
